Artisanal Brew
by lamentomori
Summary: After Wrestlemania 32 Steve and Dean share a beer. Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/Stone Cold Steve Austin), Smut, Mild Profanity.
_Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/Stone Cold Steve Austin), Smut, Mild Profanity._

* * *

"Hometown crowds always get me worked up." Shawn's laughing, buzzing with excitement when they get through the curtain. Gorilla's a heaving mess of people all clamouring, and chattering over the spectacle of the Granddaddy of them all. Mania is a _lways_ a sight to behold, but it's always better to be involved in it.

"True that... You want another beer?" Steve's heading towards the room that's been designated as his for the event.

"I'm good." Shawn turns off down a different corridor, no doubt towards his buddies. Mick's still there, still absently sipping at the beer in his hands.

"I wouldn't mind another." He says it quietly, and Steve turns to him with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not a beer man, but this is a good brew, Steve." He smiles broadly, and Steve ushers him into the dressing room to drink some beers, and shoot the shit.

"Yeah, I'm pretty proud of it." Steve tosses Mick another bottle, and flops on to the sofa in the room. His shoulder's hurting like a bitch. He's half convinced he's seriously fucked it up this time, but a quick check with a doctor at some stage will confirm that one way or the other.

His locker room serves as a hub for various people coming looking for a chat and or a beer throughout the day and on into the night. By the time the event's over, Steve's still not been to see a doctor, and his beer's long gone. He's caught up with a good few of the old boys, and met some of the new ones. Some of them he likes more than others, some of them he has the terrible feeling he's going to be adopting as his own. It's a problem for another day though, right now he has one mission, and that's getting back to his hotel without being accosted.

"You trying to sneak off without saying hi? I'm hurt old man." His attempt fails, but Steve doesn't much mind. If he's to be accosted then Dean is very much the person he'd like to do it.

"I reckoned you'd be busy with whatever it is you kids get up to these days." Steve shrugs, and smirks at Dean. "You waiting for me?"

"Might have been." Dean grins, and falls into step with Steve. "It's been a while."

"That it has." Steve keeps walking, not looking over at Dean. The last time they bumped into each other had been painfully similar. Dean had met Steve near the parking lot, they'd talked for a while, shared war stories, and Steve had offered Dean a ride to the hotel. At the hotel Dean had offered beer, then his ass. Steve had taken both. They've hooked up a few times since then. Nothing more than causal fucking, over the years Steve's learned to not get too attached. Nothing that happens between wrestlers is ever serious.

"You'll give me a ride?" Dean asks as he gets into the passenger's side of Steve's rental car.

"Looks that way, doesn't it." Steve laughs, and starts driving, silently hoping the fans will have dispersed enough to let him escape.

The trip to the hotel is sound tracked by a rambling conversation about the card. Dean's not exactly Steve's favourite person to book the territory with, he's much too easy-going, but it's a habit that all wrestlers engage in, a tradition that can't be ignored, because it's so ubiquitous. Dean doesn't offer much, only occasional comments to Steve's monologue. He's not one for saying what he really thinks. If that's because he has no opinion, or is incredibly private, Steve isn't sure. In the hotel room, Steve tosses him a beer. Dean drains the bottle so fast Steve would be surprised if he even tasted it.

"You seem antsy." Steve says it without expecting an answer. Dean nods absently, and grins at him from the chair he's sat in.

"I wanna fuck you." He says it casually, but his expression is like a delinquent proposing shoplifting. Steve takes a deep swig of his beer, and levels Dean with a thoughtful look. He's not bottomed for a long time. So long he can't actually remember who it was who topped him. So long ago he thinks it might have been Rude. The silence seems to have dragged on long enough for Dean to get uncomfortable. He fidgets in his chair. "I mean if you don't-"

"I'm thinking about it." Steve interrupts him, and takes another drink. He's not thinking about it, not in the least. He's drinking his beer, and hoping that Dean'll go easy on him, because he doesn't want to be limping into the doctor's office tomorrow. Dean sits watching Steve drink his beer, his own empty bottle dangling uselessly from his fingers. "You bring any lube?" Steve asks as he drains the last of his bottle, and gets to his feet. Dean nods enthusiastically, and comes over. There's a big grin on his lips, and a lube bottle in his hand. Dean backs Steve up against the wall, smirking as he presses Steve's shoulders against it. Steve's glad he manages to hide his wince of pain, because explaining his pained shoulder would slow down the proceedings too much for his liking.

"You see my match?" Dean asks before diving in, pressing nipping kisses to Steve's throat. It stops Steve from answering the question; he's more focused on exposing more of his neck to Dean's questing teeth and lips. "C'mon old man, answer me." Dean laughs softly, and pulls back. One of his thighs works between Steve's own, pressing firmly against his groin.

"I did not." Steve answers honestly, grinding against Dean's firm thigh. Dean sucks air in through his teeth, and scowls.

"I'm offended." He hisses, and presses Steve back against the wall. "It was short, you could have made time for me."

"I could have, but I didn't." Steve starts to shrug, but there's a twinge of pain from his shoulder. Dean looks at him with some concern. "Gonna get it looked at tomorrow." Steve mutters, shifting slightly to press himself closer to Dean's groin. Despite the not great angles, he manages to rut somewhat against Dean's denim clad dick. Dean smirks at him, and withdraws his leg, pressing himself more fully against Steve. He draws him into a kiss, a sloppy, messy kiss, and starts rutting against him like a teenager looking to cum in his pants.

"Why not?" Dean starts worrying a mark on Steve's neck, his hips still rocking against Steve's.

"I had better things to do..." Steve tugs Dean's head up, and pulls him into a kiss, grinding back against Dean. He's beginning to think they should probably at least take off their pants before this goes any further. Dean seems quite content to be rutting and grinding like this, but Steve would like to get into a less vertical position.

"Better things than watch me?" Dean snorts, and steps away from Steve, a sly smile spreading over his lips. He starts stripping of his clothes. Steve follows his lead, and sheds his outfit quickly. Dean tackles him into the bed once they're both naked, and Steve hopes he's hidden how much that hurt his shoulder, because he doesn't want to stop in the middle of this. The kissing, and rutting from before have resumed once more, only this time there's no fabric to get in the way. The only things Steve's aware of are the slick pressure of Dean's tongue in his mouth, the rough glide of his hands over Steve's skin, and the firm slide of Dean's cock against his own. He's getting close. He'd not object to cumming like this, the warmth of their cum combining against their stomachs, but Dean had made his desires clear. He wants to fuck Steve, and in this instance, Steve's willing to oblige him. "So... Will you let me fuck you?" Dean pants in his ear. Steve nods, and Dean leans back slightly. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. Get your damned lube, and get on with it." Steve laughs, and spreads his legs wide, letting Dean settle between them, all wide-eyed and nervous. Dean slides a single finger into Steve; his eyes flickering from Steve's face to his ass and back again. "Gimme the lube here." Steve snaps, and Dean shifts, pulling his finger free. At the rate Dean's going they'll still be prepping by the time morning comes. Steve's out of practice, not a novice. He's entirely certain he can get himself prepped, and ready by the time Dean's got his condom on. "I'll do this, you take care of yourself." Dean nods in response to Steve's words, and starts putting on his condom. Steve takes a breath. It surprises him by how big it is. He's never done this to himself before. He's prepped plenty of other guys, but never himself. He coats two fingers, and works them into himself quickly. His breath catches in the back of his throat, but that fact is lost by the moan he makes. His fingers delve deeper into himself, stretching, easing, spreading lube. Steve's eyes fall closed, focused on the feeling of his own body. His ass is tight and hot around his fingers. It's ridiculous, but there's a part of him that's imagining plunging into that tightness. He's almost jealous of what Dean's going to experience. As soon as the thought occurs to him, Steve deems himself ready to be fucked. He pulls his fingers from his body, and grabs the back of Dean's neck, pulling him back down.

"You ready?" Dean asks. His voice is oddly earnest, and Steve can't help but be a little flattered by that. He nods, and wraps his legs around Dean's waist, squeezing lightly. "I'm gonna lie here." Dean says suddenly, and moves away from Steve to flop onto his back. He nods down at his erection. "Your shoulder's bum, and you ain't done this in a while. It'd be better for you to be in charge." Dean smirks, and strokes his cock lazily. "C'mon, Steve... Ride me." Steve shakes his head, and moves to straddle Dean's thighs. He takes a hold of Dean's slicked cock, and teasing brushes it against his entrance.

"You sure you want me on top?" Steve asks, waiting a mere moment before sinking down a little of Dean's cock. Dean's eyes fall closed, his mouth falls open, and his hands fly to Steve's hips. "I'm gonna go slow cause it's been a while." Steve smirks, and moves slowly. HIs body slides in almost imperceptible increments down Dean's cock. The pace stays slow for what feels like forever. Dean's lying almost docile beneath Steve, utterly unlike whenever they've had sex before. Dean isn't the type to just lie there and take it. Dean's the kind of guy who'll scratch up your back, and cover your chest in bites. This quiet demure, eyes closed, passive version of Dean isn't one Steve's seen before, or likes. "You still alive?"

"You said you wanted slow." Dean croaks, his eyes still screwed shut. "That changing any time soon?" There's a hopeful edge to Dean's voice. Steve starts moving a little faster. This seems to inspire Dean. He starts snapping his hips up, driving his cock deeper into Steve. One of his hands wrap around Steve's cock, the pace it sets is brutally fast. Dean opens his eyes, and grins up at Steve. Steve leans down, claiming a fierce kiss, his hips matching Dean's, their fuck gaining both speed, and ferocity.

"Harder." Steve growls, and Dean attempts to comply. His hips snap into Steve's with more force, the one hand on his hip pulls him down more firmly. Steve can feel his orgasm building, can feel it edging closer and closer, but he can see Dean's coming sooner than he is though. Dean's chest is heaving, his hair slick with sweat, his lip caught between his teeth being worried. He's so close that Steve isn't surprised when Dean's hands clamp down on Steve's hips, holding him in place as he cums. He's almost completely boneless when he does, and Steve quietly curses to himself. He takes his own cock in his hand, Dean's having fallen uselessly to his thighs. He jerks his cock in short, quick motions, chasing an orgasm that's incredibly close. He cums with a vague noise, and flops onto Dean's chest, landing in his own cum. They lie in silence for a moment, then Steve's shoulders starts hurting and he rights himself, sitting up beside Dean's still sprawled form. He starts wiping Dean's chest and stomach down with a kleenex, Dean seemingly unconcerned, his eyes still closed, wearing a lazy smile.

"You've an appointment with the ringside doc at nine, by the way." Dean mutters, as he starts pulling his clothes back on. Steve nods at him vaguely. He feels strangely sated in a way he never has. Sated in a way that's got him thinking about past fucks, and past orgasms. Sated in a way that puts the past to shame. "I was gonna say in the car, but I got distracted. Vince wanted me to let you know." Dean finishes tying his sneakers, and looks up at Steve with a grin. "Pass me my shirt will you?"

"Thanks for telling me." Steve mutters, tossing him the crumpled t-shirt from the floor by the bed.

"No problem. Take it easy old man. I'm taking your last beer, by the way." Dean flashes him one last brilliant grin, and leaves Steve's now beer-less room.

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 _A little gift for the incredible Gauna-03 on Tumblr._

 _I hope you like it!_


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